


Dynamic

by mistr3ssquickly



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, oh my god there is no plot happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-14 18:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18953443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: A very lengthy look at the dynamic between Han and Luke in bed in the first year of their association with the Rebellion.





	Dynamic

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolute pure smut and nothing else. No plot, no character development, no nuance, just two guys getting off together. You're welcome.

The first time Luke sleeps with Han, he’s drunk on adrenaline and whiskey and exhaustion and exhilaration, aroused beyond reason from the electric pulse of emotion as thick as a raging sandstorm suffusing every square inch of the base on Yavin IV, from the way Han keeps looking at him with a confusing mix of affection and predatory possession, the vague thrill of being alive despite the odds that told him he'd not survive to see the sunrise. He nods too eagerly when Han leans down and breathes _wanna go back to my ship with me?_ against the shell of his ear, definitely gives Han a starry-eyed look that earns him the laughter light in the kiss Han gives him, sloppy and drunken and wonderful for it, Han’s fingers warm around his own, gripping him just tightly enough to pull him out of the meeting hall and down the corridors to the hangar where the _Falcon_ is berthed, excitement gathering at the base of Luke’s throat as Han keys in his code to unlock his ship, grabbing Luke by the hand once more and dragging him inside.

The captain’s quarters are bigger and nicer than Luke’s expecting, downright luxurious in comparison with what he’s seen in adventure holos about space pirates not all that dissimilar from the one he’s leaning up to kiss, tasting whiskey and urgency on Han’s tongue as he reaches down to help free him of his gunbelt and trousers. He’s expecting Han to be hard for him when he reaches in to feel him for the first time, hoping he will be, but it’s a relief to find him fully erect and hot through his pants all the same, more than a pleasure to taste the moan rumbling up his neck when Luke starts stroking him, skin-on-skin, working him ‘til he’s slick.

“You got a preference on how this goes, kid?” Han wants to know when he has to step back from the kissing and groping to take off his shirt, showing off muscle and scars Luke’s mouth actually _waters_ at the thought of licking. “‘Cause I can go either way, but I’d have your cock up my ass if you’re asking my preference.”

Luke’s cock jerks in his trousers, hard enough that Han notices it and grins at him for it. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got a problem with that idea,” he says, and answering _no, sir,_ is weird, probably, but that’s what Luke does and Han actually growls at him for it, muttering something that sounds like _I like the sound’a that_ before kissing Luke again, tugging him out of his clothes hard enough that it’s small wonder they don’t tear.

The bed’s good and firm, the sheets cool and smooth under Luke’s back when Han pushes him down and climbs on top of him, fumbling a little with something in the cubby in the wall before pulling away from Luke’s mouth with a curse so he can actually look at what he’s doing, eventually pulling a bottle of slick from one of the boxes, its contents half gone already.

“You know how to use this?” he wants to know, dangling the bottle in front of Luke’s face. He makes a compelling picture, hunched over and nude and fully erect, the base of his cock brushing like a tease against the head of Luke’s. Luke nods, reaching for the bottle, a bead of precome surging to the tip of his cock and dripping onto his belly as Han gives him the slick and moves higher on the bed, putting himself well within Luke’s reach. He’s tight, _so_ tight when Luke gets a finger into him, working it in and out like he does for himself when he masturbates, and the sounds he makes as he pushes back into Luke’s touch are soft and breathy and _maddening,_ dropping lower into a long, deep moan when Luke gives him a second finger, the angle wrong for him to work Han’s prostate like he’d really, _really_ like to, but it doesn’t seem to matter, Han pushing back into his hand like he’s starved for it, whining when Luke doesn’t quite match his rhythm, his frustration just adding to the thrill of their fucking.

He pushes himself up and back without warning a few minutes in, shoving Luke’s fingers into himself as far as they can go in the process, his hand shaking a little as he holds it out, angled toward Luke’s other hand. “Give me some’a the slick,” he says when Luke looks at him blankly. “Gonna help you out back there.”

Which is -- Luke’s brain maybe short-circuits a little, at that, his hips jerking under Han’s warm weight, the whole thing simultaneously better and worse when Han reaches between them to drag precome up from the length of Luke’s cock, saying something about how _this’s enough, probably_ before reaching behind himself and pushing one of his own fingers, wet with Luke’s come, up into his own ass, the stretch of muscle tight around Luke’s knuckles, squeezing even more tightly when Han begins to move, rolling his hips in a shaky, uneven rhythm, his cock bobbing in time with it, dripping onto Luke’s chest as he fucks himself on their hands.

 _“Gods_ that’s good,” Han groans when Luke makes a helpless noise and twists his hand, trying to reach his prostate and failing. _“Stars,_ kid, that’s --”

He shakes his head and bears down on their joined hands, their fingers tangling inside him. Looks for all the world like he might come, just from their fingers, but to Luke’s mixed relief and disappointment he doesn’t, pulling his own finger free first, then tugging at Luke’s wrist to pull him out as well, shuffling backwards down the mattress until he’s lined up over Luke’s cock, stroking it just a few times before pulling it up straight and pushing himself down onto it, so smooth and practiced that it takes Luke by surprise, the tight heat of Han’s ass around his cockhead easily the best thing he’s ever felt, pulling a broken shout from his throat and pushing his hips up in an instinctive bid for more that Han subdues by pushing his full weight down onto Luke’s lap, filling himself all the way to the root of Luke’s cock, answering Luke’s breathless squeak with a satisfied sigh.

“You’ve got a nice cock,” he says, leaning forward a little, just enough to give himself room to move, easing Luke in and out of himself just the barest inch. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Luke groans and puts his hands on Han’s hips, feeling the muscles under Han’s warm, sweaty skin tense with each push, the suck and squeeze of his ass reducing Luke’s world to the aching pleasure of his cock. “N-yeah?” he manages, flexing his hips again, which does little more than make Han curse softly, the sloppy grin on his face falling away as he starts to move in earnest, fucking himself on Luke’s cock, which is just -- it’s nothing like Luke had imagined it might feel, lying in his bed and stroking himself to a fantasy of watching a lover ride him. It’s better, worlds better, Han’s weight pushing him down into the mattress, pinning him even before he leans forward and grabs Luke by the wrists, pinning his hands over his head, his whole body stretched out, helpless under Han’s greater size and strength. He babbles words of encouragement when Han starts grinding against him, begging for the orgasm he wants more desperately than he’s ever wanted anything before, pushing his feet against the mattress and scrabbling for purchase until Han shoves back _hard_ and tells him to cut it out.

“Get your hand on me,” Han growls, releasing one of Luke’s wrists and grabbing a fistful of pillow instead, fucking himself in a shorter, tighter rhythm until Luke’s got a good grip on him, stroking him as best he can in the tight confines between their bodies. He arches his back and moves like he’s trying to stab himself on Luke’s cock, making a harsh, pained noise at the back of his throat with each downward thrust, barely forming Luke’s name as his rhythm climbs and his body snaps tight, semen arcing from the head of his cock as he hits his peak, his ass squeezing around Luke’s erection and his thighs shaking, every inch of his pleasure on full display, his body tight and trembling with it. He stays still only a moment after the final aftershocks have shivered through him before opening his eyes and leering down at Luke, tightening down around him before rolling both of them, cradling Luke between his thighs and stretching his hands over his head, bracing himself, an invitation Luke doesn't hesitate to accept. He lasts all of three strokes before orgasm takes him, the freedom to _move_ how he wants to, finally, forming into a surge of lust that blanks all the ideas he might’ve had about skill or rhythm, the desire to fuck until he comes overriding all else.

Han's grinning at him when he's gotten his breath back well enough to look up at him, not the maddening, condescending grin he's treated Luke to so often over the two days they've known each other, but a grin all the same, this one tired and sated and _happy._ A good look for him. 

“Knew there was good reason to keep you around,” he says, wiggling his hips until Luke takes the hint and pulls out. “Two, now that I know what you're packing. And that you know how to use it.”

Luke feels his entire face go red, can't even be mad when Han laughs at him for it, slapping him on the ass hard enough to leave a mark.

\---

The second time, they're grounded at what was supposed to be a rendezvous point, Luke copiloting the _Falcon_ with Han instead of flying his X-Wing while Chewbacca recovers from an injury that has him grounded at their latest hidden base and deeply grumpy about it. Wedge and his squadron don't show up when they're supposed to and, worse, don't communicate that they're _fine,_ just laying low until the fleet of Imps they happened upon have cleared out completely, which means Luke has all the pent up energy and worry he's been gathering like lint in his pocket and nowhere to spend it, no ship to fly or blasters to shoot, nothing but Han lounging around, covering his own sense of relief at Wedge's message with grumbled sarcasm about getting unexpected shore leave, courtesy the Empire.

“Better'n anything the Rebellion's given us in that department,” he says when Luke tells him he shouldn't make jokes like that. “Been runnin’ both of us ragged. Gets to a man, after long enough “ He looks Luke up and down, lifting the corner of his mouth in the beginning of a predatory grin. “Hasn't left much time or energy for other things, either, you gotta admit.”

Luke stops pacing. “Maybe you're just old,” he says. “I've had plenty of energy for that. You could've just _asked.”_

“Yeah well. You could've offered,” Han grumbles, and that's kind of cute, in a weird Han Solo sort of way, so Luke snorts softly and flops down in the copilot's seat, turning towards Han.

“Offering now, if you're not too _tired,”_ he says, aware that his cock is starting to swell at the thought of sleeping with Han again, the bulge of it plainly visible where it’s pressing against the seam of his breeches. The way Han looks at it and licks his lips tells him it's not a problem, not going to get him teased, which is something of a relief, really.

“Don’t think you're doin’ it right if it ain't wearing you out by the end of it,” Han says, pushing himself to his feet and coming over to straddle Luke's lap, getting a handful of Luke's hair and tugging on it, hard, hauling his head back for a rough, demanding kiss. It’s a bad comeback, even by Luke’s standards, but judging others’ humor is more Han’s thing than his, the feel of Han’s muscles staying tense where he’s not resting his full weight on Luke’s thighs distraction enough, the way they flex when he starts to rut against Luke’s erection a blessing under Luke’s hands.

“Can we fuck here?” Luke wants to know, addled and breathless when Han stops kissing him long enough to punch in the security perimeter code, a precaution he’d not yet taken, courtesy their previous plans.

Han chuckles. “Much as I’d love to,” he says, “Chewie’ll skin me alive if we fuck in his chair. And don’t tell me he won’t know, ‘cause _he’ll know._ The wookiee sense of smell isn’t something you should ever underestimate.”

There’s probably a story there -- and a good one, too, the kind Han’ll only let slip when he’s three sheets to the wind and will then vehemently deny when he sobers up -- but Luke’s had a fantasy for a while now about pushing the great Captain of the Millennium Falcon down over his precious ship’s controls and fucking him ‘til he comes, and if there’s one thing he’s really bad at, it’s giving up on something he wants.

“We don’t have to fuck here,” he offers, looking over at the captain’s flight-seat.

Han follows his gaze. “Should’a known you were after my seat,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in it, and when he clambers out of Luke’s lap, he does so only to bow and gesture grandly to his flight-seat, grinning like it was his idea when Luke leaps at the opportunity, reaching down to adjust himself where he’s fully hard, maybe making a bit of a show of it, just for the way Han smirks at him and comes over to stroke him through his clothes. The captain’s flight-seat isn’t any different from Chewbacca’s seat, has the same sloped sides that make it hard for him to pull Han down close enough to rub up against him, has Luke hard and frustrated even before Han’s gotten his trousers open and his cock out. He’s weighing his options, trying to decide how best to position Han so that _he_ can be the one in charge this time, but before he’s settled on any one of his options, Han pushes himself up and back and out of Luke’s hands, but he sinks to his knees and puts his mouth on Luke’s cock, all in one fluid motion, before Luke can object to the change in position, and he settles in to sucking hard at Luke’s cockhead a few times before taking him in deep, swallowing like he’s starved for it, which obliterates any objections Luke might’ve had, anyway.

Luke squeaks and grabs the sloped sides of the flight-seat instead, holding on for dear life as Han works him, not taking him all _that_ far into his throat, less deep than Luke knows from even his limited experiences back home he can do, but he makes up for the lack of depth with good, steady suction and a constant, maddening friction, swirling his tongue over the head every so often, making hungry little noises in the back of his throat every time he swallows.

The thought that he’s done this before, and probably done it kneeling down in the very same spot he’s kneeling in now sends a shiver of lust through every inch of Luke’s skin, so potent that he’s honestly surprised when he doesn’t come from it far too fast. It’s got him on edge, though, breathing hard and shaking with the effort of _not_ thrusting up into Han’s mouth, his legs shaking under Han’s palms when Han slides his hands down to hold him still, doing things with his tongue that have him sucking the orgasm out of Luke in a frankly embarrassing matter of minutes. Not that Luke has the mind to care or be embarrassed, too busy coming in Han’s mouth and trying desperately to remember how to _breathe,_ but.

“Oh my _god,”_ he manages once he’s got enough breath to form the words, the cockpit spinning around him, for all that he’s relatively certain they’re still grounded. His hand’s trembling when he reaches out to run his fingers through Han’s hair, Han grinning up at him when he can’t even manage that for more than a few seconds, unbearably -- rightfully -- smug.

“Good to know I haven’t lost my touch,” he says, making a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he pushes himself to his feet, his cock hard and freed from his trousers, still, wet at the tip, a smear of precome soaked dark into the leg of his trousers. “Either that or you haven’t been taking care of yourself lately.”

He’s leering like he’s waiting for a response and Luke’s not fool enough to think _anything_ good could possibly come from giving him an answer either way, so instead he reaches out and pulls Han in close, Han’s murmured _hell yeah_ that melting into a moan when Luke sucks him into his mouth the first time.

 _“Gods_ yes,” he breathes when Luke takes him into his throat, swallowing around him a few times because that always used to drive Biggs crazy. Han likes it, too, maybe a little too much, the way he grips Luke’s hair and grabs at the root of his cock keeping Luke from showing off just how good he is with his mouth. Instead, he sits in Han’s flight-seat and does his best to breathe while Han fucks his throat, making the most delicious noises as he does, _begging_ for Luke to keep taking him deep like he is, as if he can’t believe Luke hasn’t pushed him off or bitten him or choked.

And that’s just starting to form itself into a point of pride, swelling in Luke’s chest, ideas starting to take shape for him of how he might show off what he can do with his mouth, even with Han fucking his throat, when Han, without warning, decides that he shouldn’t come down Luke’s throat. Only he doesn’t _tell_ Luke he’s coming, so when he tries to pull away, Luke leans forward, trying to keep him where he is, which means Han’s only half out of his mouth when he hits his peak, and he jerks like he’s being electrocuted when he comes, and _that_ means very little of his orgasm ends up in Luke’s mouth, the bulk of it making a mess of his face, dribbling down his chin.

Han chuckles, and it sounds forced, breathless. “Sorry about that,” he says, and his voice sounds _wrecked,_ betraying just how much he enjoyed Luke’s mouth, as if his coming all over Luke’s face hadn’t been indication enough. “Hold still, lemme get you a rag. Gonna drip all over my ship if you move around too much.”

“It’s _your_ come,” Luke says, for all that he stays put like he was told, Han off rummaging around behind him somewhere. “Chewbacca’s gotta be used to that smell by now.”

The rag hits him with a soft _flumph,_ tumbling into his lap where he’s fairly sure Han chucked it at his head. “He does, and that doesn’t make the temper tantrum he throws about me havin’ fun in my own ship any less overdramatic. Just pins me as the guilty party, really, since you couldn’t be bothered to swallow.”

Luke finishes mopping up his face and turns to look at Han, incredulous. _“You’re_ the one who pulled out at the last second,” he says. “I would’ve swallowed, if you’d stayed where you were.”

“Yeah? Tell that to Chewie.”

Luke tosses the rag at Han and pushes himself up out of the flight-seat. “Tell him yourself,” he says, pleased when Han grins at him, grabbing him before he can leave the cockpit and kissing him good and dirty, enough raw lust breathing in the air around them to make Luke’s cock stiffen, just a little.

“Got half a mind to see if you really _do_ swallow,” Han says when Luke pulls away from the kiss, addled and dazed and maybe breathing a little faster than normal. “Not that it matters, with a mouth like yours.”

And Luke would object that Han didn’t even let him show off what he can do with his mouth, but Han leans in and kisses him again and he’s too busy kissing him back to bother.

\---

The third time, Han catches him completely by surprise, mostly because Luke is zoning out, his mind a thousand parsecs away as he walks from the quiet spot he's been using for meditation (or his best attempts at meditation, anyway) out to the yard where he and all the other pilots have been running drills since their arrival on base. He jumps in surprise when Han yanks him -- bodily -- from his thoughts, his yelp muffled under the pressure of Han's mouth against his own, his back impacting the wall of the corridor hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. Which he would mind, normally, but Han grabs him by the wrist and shoves his hand clumsily into his trousers, the firm heat of his erection distracting Luke well enough from his complaints, giving him far more interesting things to focus on.

 _"Fuck,_ yes, c'mon, please," Han breathes when Luke has to wiggle away from his mouth so he can see what he's doing, opening Han's trousers enough to keep them from strangling his arm. "Touch it, get your hand on me already."

Luke's doing his best in that department, struggling a little against the worn leather of Han's gunbelt not wanting to stay out of his way, the tackiness of stale sweat on Han’s belly catching at his wrist as he moves, but he doesn't tell Han that, doesn't need to, either, Han _whining_ and covering his mouth once again in a sloppy, panting kiss, moving in close enough that all Luke can do, really, is keep his grip steady on Han’s erection, tightening it once his palm’s gone slick enough for Han to move easily, fucking up into his hand.

It’s messy and artless, the sort of teenage groping Luke thought he’d left behind in the secluded spots of Darklighter farm, but the thrill of jerking Han off in the middle of a corridor where anyone could happen upon them with absolutely _no_ room for them to claim they’re doing anything but what they’re doing is fully, powerfully arousing, has Luke’s cock swelling against the pressure of Han pushing against him, his pulse pounding at his throat as Han moans and pushes into his grip, holding onto him tight enough to be just the right side of painful. He can’t move like he wants, can’t move at all, really, not even to twist his hand or add to Han’s pleasure in any way, the difference in size and weight between them never more pronounced than it is in that moment, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Han, doesn’t stop him from shaking all over and breathing a raw, low curse and coming all over Luke’s hand and wrist and belly, his cock pumping like a heart’s beat against Luke’s palm, warm and dripping when his hips shudder to stillness, the kiss devolved between them into little more than heavy breathing, Han’s pulse audible even over the roar of blood in Luke’s ears.

“So good,” he babbles, shivering when Luke gets to move his hand, finally, wringing a few delicious aftershocks from him. “Needed that. Ugh.”

“Guess so,” Luke says, bemused, which is stupid and inane and gets him laughed at, no surprise there, really, Han’s eyes creased at the corners with tired amusement when he leans back and pulls a rag from his back pocket, wincing at the mess he’s made of Luke’s clothes.

“Here,” he says, handing it over. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’ll, uh. Take care’a my side of things in the ‘fresher. Headed that direction now anyway.”

He doesn’t mention taking care of Luke’s arousal, for all that it’s pushing insistently against the front of Luke’s breeches, impossible for even the most oblivious sentient to miss, doesn’t stick around long enough to reciprocate or make up an excuse for _not_ reciprocating, instead patting Luke awkwardly on the shoulder and zipping his trousers, then wandering off as if nothing happened, leaving Luke to mop up his mess as best he can, willing his erection to go down as he starts off down the corridor again, the bulge of it a little less noticeable at least by the time he arrives on the training grounds. 

"Good of you to finally join us, _Commander,"_ Wedge says, leaning hard on Luke's new title, rank he doesn't deserve and they all know it, even though no one's objected to him carrying it around all the same. Luke feels his face heating, knows he must look like he's been out in the sun for a solid week, but there's nothing he can do about that so he says _sorry_ and joins the nearest line in the formation. 

Wedge gives him a steady, contemplating look before turning his gaze on the rest of the squadron. "I know drills are boring," he says, instead of launching into giving them orders straight away, "but building up muscle memory can mean the difference between coming back in one piece and getting blown to space dust." He looks at Luke. "Ask Solo next time you see him. He just made it back from a fight we were all pretty sure he was going to lose. From where I was sitting, it looked like experience was all that brought him back to us alive and kicking."

A few of the pilots murmur assent, Luke’s stomach dropping to the mess of precome going cool in his underwear, Han’s odd behavior suddenly a lot more understandable, his wild, desperate need for control gut-wrenching, now that it’s been put in context. Luke’s been there, before, the gratification he felt when Han pulled him close in the hangar on Yavin IV something he sees in his dreams sometimes, Han’s arms around him pulling him away from the muscle memory of the shockwave rippling through his X-wing from the destruction of the _Death Star_ giving him something real, something _human,_ to cling to. 

He maybe trains a little harder that day, wears himself out so badly that he has only just enough energy after to seek Han out and share his bunk for the night, one of Han’s arms draped across his belly as sleep swallows him whole.

\---

The next time Luke sleeps with Han, they’re on a recon assignment that has them posing as mid-level Imperial officers, which means uncomfortable uniforms but luxurious accommodations at the edge of a city much nicer than the usual places they travel on behalf of the rebellion, means no one shooting at them or shadowing them or trying to double-cross them. The food is better and high-end liquor more plentiful than anything Luke’s ever experienced, which means he’s full and happy and just drunk enough when they return to their luxurious suite to pull Han down and kiss him with all the affection and lust he’s somehow developed for the man over the months they’ve been traveling together. He manages to catch Han off-guard, a rarity in their relationship, the element of surprise helping him gain the upper hand and put it to good use, walking Han backwards to the bed at the center of the room and pushing him down, Han lying back obediently with a lascivious grin on his face and an erection pushing at the front of his briefs while Luke strips him as nude as he can, stripping out of his own uniform when Han has to take over for the last bits of his clothing.

“Got a secret _thing_ for Imperial goose-steppers I should know about?” Han wants to know when Luke climbs into bed and prowls up his body, only pausing to nip at his favorites of Han’s scars along the way.

“I wouldn’t’ve gotten you out of the uniform first if I did,” Luke says, biting at the ticklish spot on Han’s throat he discovered completely by accident and hasn’t yet tired of exploiting, sucking a bruise onto it before Han manages to wriggle away from his mouth.

“Got a thing for _me,_ then, is it?” Han says, wearing a full, unrepenting shit-eating grin when Luke looks at him.

So Luke grins back, reaching down to stroke Han’s cock as he says, “Always liked your copilot better, honestly.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Go ahead,” Luke says. “He won’t believe you.”

Han laughs and reaches up and pulls him down for some more kissing, and that’s better than banter _any_ day of the week, so Luke complies happily, enjoying the feel of Han under him and the lazy air of relaxation wrapped around them like a blanket as they kiss, the quiet and privacy and physical freedom they have in their temporary accommodations stark in contrast to the cramped shared quarters they’ve had in every rebel base they’ve messed around in together over the past months. He’s hard to the point of dripping when Han starts to move under him, friction a delicious tease, but there’s nothing urgent to it, no rush or desperation hot under Han’s fingertips when he gets a solid grip on Luke’s ass and starts to push up against him, moaning low in his throat when Luke stops kissing him in favor of bracing himself to either side of Han’s shoulders and rolling his hips, rubbing the full length of his cock against Han’s, everything slick and easy between them.

"Want to fuck me this time?" Luke offers, the fantasies he’s been entertaining lately of pushing Han down and riding him ‘til he comes pushing to the fore of his thoughts, shivering through him with a white-hot edge of pure wanting.

Under him, Han shudders, a more honest, visceral response than the grin wrapped around his _hell yeah I do,_ his eagerness showing through in the way he grabs Luke by the hips and rolls him, kissing him hard. “Didn’t know if that was your thing or not.”

Luke doesn’t know if it’s his thing or not, either, but Han’s ego is sizeable enough that he figures they’re both better off without Han knowing he’ll be the first to show Luke how it feels to have a cock shoved up his ass, so he says _yeah_ and moves his hand down to feel the rhythm of Han’s hips rolling against him, pushing up in counterpoint, the mattress squeaking faintly under his back. He lies mostly still once Han’s got a hand down between them, the angle wrong for him to rub where Luke’s pretty eager for him to rub for more than a few seconds, his moan of approval when Luke shifts to wrap his leg higher around Han’s side, giving him much better access, easily one of the more arousing things Luke’s ever heard.

“Should’a guessed you’d be the flexible type,” Han says against Luke’s mouth, his fingers too dry to push inside where Luke’s pretty sure he wants them to be. “Got me curious to see just how flexible you are.”

 _Pretty flexible_ would be Luke’s answer, if he cared to give one, which he doesn’t, too busy reaching for his discarded uniform jacket and fumbling for the bottle of slick he put in there on a whim of optimism he's had since sleeping with Han became a semi-regular constant in his life. He rolls his eyes at the smug look Han gives him when he pushes the bottle into Han’s face in arguably the least subtle suggestion a man has ever made for a lover to _get on with it already,_ but Han takes the hint and slicks his fingers, working Luke with the sort of focused care he usually reserves for the _Falcon_. Luke keeps his leg hiked up high against Han’s ribs while Han stretches him, slow and careful and angled just right to work his prostate the entire time, rutting against him in a jerking, sloppy rhythm whenever Luke shudders under him or makes a quiet, pleased noise, breaking the stillness settling across the room. Han, for his part, is quieter than he’s been the last few times Luke’s slept with him, focused and concentrating in a way that makes Luke feel like he’s the only thing in the galaxy; a good feeling, one that only gets better when Han pulls away from kissing Luke’s throat and angles his cock down, the head smooth and hot and exactly what Luke wants, nudging him open just the barest inch, a delicious promise of things to come.

“Please,” he hears himself saying when Han shifts and _pushes,_ the stretch of his cock all at once different from and better than his fingers were. “Please, god, yes, _please.”_

Han chuckles, the sound breathy and honest, carrying with it more feeling than Luke suspects he meant to let slip, and gets a hand under the bend of Luke’s knee, pulling it up to hook over his shoulder.

“That okay?” he says, and Luke can’t tell if he means the position or the feel of his cock stretching him open and filling him or both, but both feel damn good, so he nods emphatically, which earns him Han working his cock deeper, his eyes going unfocused and breath coming faster as he does. He stops a bare minute later, just as he’s started to settle into a slow, easy rhythm, levers himself up off of Luke just long enough to pull Luke’s other leg up over his other shoulder, putting him in perfect position to scrub the head of his cock over Luke’s prostate with every thrust, and that’s good enough that Luke doesn’t even care that he’s folded in half under a man considerably bigger and heavier than himself, his participation in the whole thing reduced to scrabbling at the bed sheets for anything to hold onto as Han drives breathless sounds from him with each inward push, tightness gathering at the bright center of pleasure slowly starting to pool between his legs, making Han feel bigger than he actually is.

“God _damn_ you feel good,” Han growls when Luke starts to shift under him, wanting desperately to push up against Han’s weight, hungry for a faster pace, for the orgasm he can feel just beginning to build deep under his skin. “So fucking _tight,_ gods. Could fuck you forever, you feel so good."

As far as dirty talk goes, it's not the best, but Luke's standards are low enough in the red haze of wanting all but suffocating him that Han's words just make him more desperate, breathing a moan around _please_ that Han takes to heart, bless him, growling _yeah_ and arching his back, fucking Luke hard and fast enough that Luke grabs handfuls of the bedsheets and closes his eyes and sinks into it, all of it, from the impossible stretch of his ass around Han's cock to the friction between their bodies rubbing his erection just right, up to the ridiculous feel of his feet bouncing where Han has him folded completely in half, fully at his mercy, fucking him into a state of mindlessness.

He can feel his body winding tight around what promises to be an incredible orgasm, his breath short with it, drowning in anticipated gratification, when Han makes a short, choked noise of pleasure and starts to come in him, his hips stuttering hard into stillness, his full weight bearing down on Luke, testing his flexibility, pinning him as he bucks futilely against Han's weight, desperate for friction. When Han figures out what he wants and pushes up and back, reaching down to take him in hand, Luke can't help but thrust up into his touch, Han's murmured encouragement brushing hot against his skin as his world diminishes to the singular animal desire to come, Han handling him roughly, dragging him into orgasm, his breath choking and snarling in on itself through the whole thing, from his cock making a mess of them both to his ass tightening down around Han's cock still fully hard inside him, his heart bruising itself against his ribs as he gasps breath into his lungs.

"Damn," Han breathes when Luke shivers through the final aftershocks, his legs tumbling down from Han's shoulders and falling open to either side of Han's body, too shaky for him to be bothered holding them up. 

"Yeah," Luke says, bleary and satisfied, only wincing a little as Han slides out of him, collapsing at his side on a satisfied sigh.

"Ain't usually my thing," Han says, his voice muffled where he hasn't bothered to lift his head up from the mattress, "but I could get used to that, ass like yours," and Luke is too busy blushing, pleased, to argue that he didn't even get to participate, really, the pleasant ache in his hips and the fuzzy, floaty feeling hovering over his skin where Han is drowsing at his side intoxicating enough to keep him quiet, luxuriating in the stolen fragment of happiness as long as he can before the mess he and Han have made of him compels him from the bed and into the 'fresher.

Han joins him while he bathes, lazy and sated and so receptive to Luke's wandering hands that they're both clean long before they step out to dry off, Luke pulling away from the kiss Han gives him to yawn, tired and happy and safe in a way he'd almost forgotten he could be.

\---

It's a scant month until the next time he gets Han to himself once again, pulling Han to his bunk with no subtlety whatsoever and pulling at his clothes the second the door is closed behind them, the fantasies he's been entertaining since their last mission together nothing to compare with the real thing. Han's answering desire for him projects like a beam through the Force, as much a compliment as the firming length of his erection, eager for Luke's touch even before Luke's got him stripped nude enough to stroke him, pushing him playfully down in a controlled spill of limbs on to his narrow, squashy bunk.

"Never was one to shy away from a bet," Han says, leaning back to watch as Luke sets about shrugging out of his tunic and shoving his breeches and underwear down his legs, "so I'd place a hefty wager on the notion that you've missed me."

There's nothing wrong with telling him he's right but Luke feels his ears go red all the same as he nods, climbing into bed with Han and kissing him, pleased when Han moans into his mouth and gets a hand between them to stroke their cocks. "You missed me, too," he says when he feels Han start to go slick against him; always a good feeling. 

"Any man would miss this," Han says, squeezing, tightening his grip enough that Luke stops rubbing against him. "And as much as I’d love to see you make a mess’a me, I’d rather have your cock in me when I come, if it’s all the same to you.”

Luke shivers, a bolt of lust arcing through him at the thrill of being so _openly_ desired, the burn of it just as potent as it was the first time he slept with the Han. He pushes himself up and back, kneeling between Han’s legs, his mind tangling in a jumble of every fantasy he’s had since then of pushing Han down and making him feel good, to show off what he can do, even with his limited experience in that arena. The sight of Han fully nude and smeared with precome, his legs spread wide, his eyes bright with arousal, feels more like something out of Luke’s more vivid fantasies than a reality for him to touch and taste, the soft, broken noise Han makes when Luke gives in to the temptation to lean down and lick the length of his cock playing prelude to a full-body shiver that tremors against Luke’s skin where he’s cradled between Han’s thighs.

Han is unusually pliant beneath him, mostly keeping still while Luke goes down on him, the touch of his hand at the back of Luke’s head gentle, falling away immediately when Luke pulls off and licks his lips, not pushing Luke back down to finish what he started. He makes a pleased sound at the back of his throat when Luke asks him to turn over, only sort of glancing over his shoulder when Luke has to climb out of bed to retrieve the slick from his bag, relaxing back into a sprawl when Luke comes back and traces his fingertips down the cleft of Han’s ass, a groan pulling from his throat when Luke pushes a finger inside him.

By the time he's stretched well enough for Luke to push inside him, he's made a mess of the sheets, pushing back onto Luke's hand just enough to let Luke know he's no more patient than Luke is, flushed and ready for Luke to fuck him into the mattress, which Luke _absolutely_ intends to do, his hands hungry for the feel of Han's hip bones against his palms, his cock aching at the thought of seeing Han fall apart under him. And Han, to his credit, cooperates for once, lying still on the mattress, save for rocking his hips just a little, just enough to seat Luke inside him fully. He lifts his hips when Luke starts to move in him, growling a little when Luke moans and starts to settle into a slow, easy rhythm, the simple joy of having a lover in his bed after a month of lonely nights putting him in no rush to come.

Only Han, apparently, doesn't agree with that notion.

He seems happy enough with the slow, easy pace Luke has set for all of two minutes, moving in time with Luke's thrusts, but he pushes himself up into Luke's chest after that, then up onto his knees when Luke figures out what he wants and sits back. Han's braced better against the mattress like that, giving Luke a solid counterpoint to push against, but then Han starts _moving_ in counterpoint to Luke's thrusts, not speeding the pace so much as moving Luke more roughly inside him, making a soft, greedy noise at the back of his throat with every thrust.

He makes a compelling picture like that, the muscles of his back flexing as he moves, their position leaving Luke free to stare down at him, watching his own cock stretching Han open, the slap of Han's ass against his belly like something out of a really good pornholo. And the way he moans as he moves, growing louder as he moves faster, clearly enjoying the feel of fucking himself on Luke's cock, the way he twists his body just a little to the right, bowing his back so that he's torturing his own prostate across the head of Luke's cock, is even better. Luke rests his hands on Han's hips, feeling him move, kneeling stiff and still while Han uses him to shamelessly pleasure himself. It's surreal, like the wet dreams he'd have as a teenager, more than he can take for very long, his entire being squeezing into a bright point of desperation for a long breathless second before he breaks and comes, Han's name broken on his voice. His hips jerk as he spends himself, his rhythm off enough from Han's to generate the most amazing friction, the slick squeeze of Han's ass around him pulling the last come from him, sucking him dry.

"Yeah, come in me," Han's saying when Luke comes back to his senses, panting and dizzy as if he's just run a mile uphill. "Come in me, that's so good."

It _is_ good, incredibly good, even after Luke's shivered through the last aftershocks, pulling Han back against him and getting a hand on him, too worn out to care that Han immediately goes back to fucking up into his grip and back onto his cock, leaving Luke no room to contribute anything of his own to the experience. Han curses when he comes, wrapping his hand around Luke's and squeezing tight, his come making a mess of their hands and the bedsheets, dripping from Luke's fingers and onto Han's thighs.

"Damn," he says, pulling off of Luke's cock and collapsing in a controlled spill of limbs, neatly avoiding the wet spot soaking through the sheets. "Still a damn good lay, kid."

Luke laughs, can't help himself, the buzz of getting off mixing with the thrill he's not yet gotten used to from feeling Han's affection for him through the Force, more pungent and raw than Han's practiced act of unaffectedness would otherwise suggest. "How would you know?" he says when Han lifts an eyebrow at him, wanting to know what's funny.

"Uh," Han says slowly, "nothing against you, Luke, but -- pretty sure I'm the leading authority on your abilities in bed. 'Less you've got a harem'a lovers I'm not aware of."

"You never let me do anything when we fuck," Luke clarifies, "so you don't know if I'm a good lay or not." 

Han pushes himself up on one elbow. "What d'ya _want_ me to do, just lie there and take it?"

 _"No,"_ Luke says, for all that that sounds pretty good to him, if not worded how he'd've put it if Han had given him the chance. "Like you could, anyway."

"Sure I could," Han says. "It'll be boring as fuck, but if it'll make you feel better ..."

Luke rolls his eyes. "It won't be _boring,"_ he says. He almost adds that he can't fathom the thought of sex _ever_ being boring, but his experiences are limited enough that Han would be well within his rights to make fun of him for being overeager, so he keeps his mouth shut, scooting out of the way when Han sits up and complains about feeling sticky all over, doesn’t resist at all when Han orders him to put on enough clothes to be decent and join him in the ‘fresher for a shower. It’s a good way to keep from wasting water, sharing the shower, and the novelty of feeling Han’s skin wet all over isn’t something Luke expects he’ll tire of experiencing anytime soon.

\---

An electrical storm comes through a day later and knocks out the power feeding the base, the emergency lights he and the other pilots set up draping everything in long, eerie shadows, just barely lighting the way well enough for them to make their way to the hangar on the off-chance that they’ll need to scramble their fighters and go into battle at a moment’s notice. It’s too dark to play cards, a waste of power to watch holos, and the weather outside the base is making unmistakably clear its intentions to kill any sentient stupid enough to wander out past the thick outer walls, so most everybody who doesn’t crowd into the mess to drink and talk goes back to their bunks to steal a few rare hours of extra sleep.

Luke turns down Wedge’s invitation to go back to the mess with him, tired enough that he’s not lying when he says he’s going to go back to his bunk for the night, but Han spots him in one of the corridors and drags him back to _his_ bunk instead with a flimsy promise of sharing the alcohol he’s stored there, and Luke knows from past experience that any alcohol Han likes will taste like engine degreaser to him and make his head spin, but Han pulls him in close the second the door’s closed behind them and kisses him like he didn’t mean what he said about drinking, rolling his hips against Luke’s when Luke gets his hands on Han’s ass and squeezes, so it doesn’t really matter.

“You _know_ the Empire’s gonna show up the minute you pull your trousers down, right?” Han says, for all that he’s pulling at Luke’s breeches, working them down his thighs. “That’s how this shit goes. Pick the worst possible time to come pick a fight, and then come pick a fight with us.”

“Nobody’s coming in a storm like this,” Luke says, rolling his eyes even though it’s too dark for Han to see the gesture. Close as he is to Han, he can _hear_ Han’s grin, the fingers wrapped around his cock tightening.

“Well,” Han says, “you probably will be. And I _definitely_ will, so.”

It’s arguably the worst joke Luke’s ever heard, so cheesy that he’s embarrassed on Han’s behalf, but a crack of thunder shakes the floorboards under their feet, the power of it crackling under his skin, making Han’s touch feel even better than usual, the energy breathing in the air around them whispering in the echoes he sometimes feels when he meditates, so he doesn't make fun of Han for having a shit sense of humor. He keeps Han close instead, relishing the feel of his mouth and breath and pulse as they kiss, which means neither of them is naked enough for his tastes when they fall into bed together, the fumbling that results as they try to strip out of boots and underpants and shirts the least coordinated or sexy thing Luke’s ever experienced with another person, but he keeps that to himself, too.

“Can I suck you off?” he says, once they’ve both managed to get naked without doing serious damage to each other.

“Well, it’ll be a real hardship for me,” Han says, “but if you _insist ...”_

He’s grinning as he says it, his humor melting into a low moan when Luke leans down and takes him into his mouth straight away, licking all around the flared head of his cock before sucking on it, keeping him shallow, only as much of him as will fit in his mouth, waiting for Han to beg him for more. Which Han does after just a few minutes, just as Luke’s lips are starting to go numb, only he doesn’t beg with words, he begs by shoving his hips up, his usual bid for control in bed, putting a considerable amount of trust in Luke to not choke on him or bite him in the process.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s good,” Han murmurs when Luke slicks one of his fingers in the mess he’s making against his own thigh and slides his finger past the tight muscle of Han’s ass, not bothering to feel for his prostate, trusting the stretch and stimulation of getting fingered to be enough to get Han off. _“Ahh_ that’s good. Love your mouth on me.”

Luke moans and takes him deeper, working his finger deeper as he does, only for Han to start thrusting against him again, his tempo mismatched against Luke’s just badly enough that Luke can’t do anything but take it, his mouth yet again just another hole for Han to fuck. Temper sparks under Luke's skin in answer, fueled by the warm, humid air around them, the power of the storm throwing its full fury against the scant layers of duracrete between them and the wilds beyond the base, and without thinking, Luke reaches out, sensing all of it, from Han's sweat-sticky skin to the sheets wrinkling under them to the elevated tattoo of Han's pulse, pins Han to the bed. Holding him still, the thought that Han _said_ he'd hold still and let Luke show him a good time connecting seamlessly with the mental image he has of Han lying half-propped up on the pillow shoved between hims back and the head of his bunk, thighs spread wide and cock fully hard and feet pressed into the mattress, giving him the leverage he was using to push up into Luke’s mouth.

Which he stops doing, can't do with Luke pushing on him, and from there, it’s just _natural,_ keeping Han’s knees spread apart, giving him strength equal to his own to push against while Luke goes down on him, his muscles flexing under Luke’s hand where he’s trying to thrust up and can’t.

Han swears breathlessly, his words lifting like a question, confused, but he stays hard against Luke’s tongue, dropping his head back to rest on the wall behind him, the hand he brings up to rest at the back of Luke’s head gentle and non-insistent, more feeling him move than trying to change what he’s doing. Not entirely surrender; Luke can _feel_ him straining against the pressure holding him still, reveling in the feeling of Luke overpowering him for once. He doesn’t give Luke any warning when he starts to come, but he doesn’t need to, either, the tightness coiling in him as palpable to Luke as the echo of his own breath rushing against Han’s skin, the elevated rush of his own heartbeat as he pulls back and sucks hard at the head of Han’s cock, swallowing when Han cries out and comes, his ass seizing around Luke’s fingers.

“The -- the _hell_ was that,” Han wants to know when Luke relents, pulling off and out of him, the Force receding as well, ebbing into the thunder still splitting the sky draped heavy over the base. “Felt like -- what in the _hell.”_

“Felt like you liked it okay,” Luke says.

“Well _yeah_ I liked it,” Han says. “Ain’t often somebody can come up with something I haven’t tried in bed before. Color me impressed.” He shifts, the bed complaining under him, his hand fumbling a little as he feels for Luke’s arm, tugging until Luke figures out what he wants and leans down, Han kissing him as he reaches lower between them, getting his hand on Luke’s cock and stroking it. “Full’a surprises, aren’t you.”

“Maybe,” Luke says, more interested in the hand on his cock than the conversation Han’s trying to have with him. Han, to his limited credit, figures that out quickly enough and shuts up, reciprocating with hands and mouth and throat and tongue when Luke pushes himself up on his knees and says _please,_ Han answering him with _hell yeah_ before shutting up, the sound of their breathing filling the room for the scant minutes it takes him to bring Luke off, the way he audibly licks his lips after and sighs like he’s just had a shot of his precious liquor doing things to Luke’s ego that make him grateful yet again for the darkness, for Han’s tendency to be receptive to cuddling after they’ve fucked. Which he is, undeniably, tugging the blankets up over them before getting a proprietary hand on Luke’s ass, keeping him close, nosing at his hair a little.

“Still haven’t answered my question,” he says just as Luke’s starting to drift into the grey nothingness between a really good orgasm and sleep.

“Mm?”

“‘Bout how you did that thing when you were sucking the life out’a me,” Han says. “Felt like you had six hands, all of ‘em holding me down. ‘Less you’ve got some extra appendages I’ve somehow managed to miss --”

Luke laughs, reaching up and rubbing his nose where Han’s chest hair is tickling him. “I don’t,” he says.

“So that was -- what, some kind’a hypnosis?”

“The Force,” Luke says on a sigh, “I think. I can feel it most of the time, but for some reason tonight -- it might be the storm. It feels a lot stronger than usual.”

“You used your religion to pin me down and suck my cock?” Han says.

“No. I just -- that’s _not --”_

“Yeah, sounds like it is, the way you’re stumbling over it,” Han interrupts. “Ain’t a bad thing. Could make for a pretty compelling recruiting tool, really, if you’re looking for converts. ‘Learn the ways’a the Force, suck cock like a pro.’” He chuckles. “I’d sign up for that.”

“You _would,”_ Luke says, grumpy and embarrassed.

“Don’t need to, though,” Han says. “From the way you came in my mouth, I’d say I’m way ahead’a you in that department. Don’t need a religion to give me the mouth’a the gods.”

Luke snorts and shakes his head, his annoyance dissipating as quickly as it came on, soothed by the sound of Han’s laughter rumbling through his chest, only audible over the sound of the storm raging outside still because Luke’s pressed against him as close to him as he is. “You _could_ just stop being so controlling in bed,” he says. “I wouldn’t have to hold you down if you’d just let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah? And where’d the fun in that be?” Han wants to know.

And he’s got a point, much as Luke doesn’t want to admit it, so he sighs and pulls Han down to kiss him instead, Han happy enough as always to have the last word, his sense of victory grating but easy enough to ignore once Luke’s recognized it for what it is and shifted his attention to the affection Han puts into kissing him, the warm comfort of falling asleep next to a lover, not alone in his own bunk.

\--

After that, Han makes a _point_ to not relinquish control in bed ever again, looking for all the world like he’s won a bet every time Luke snaps and pins him down with the Force. Luke gets back at him for it by never bringing it up again, even when Han puts actual _effort_ into egging him on, his hinting about as subtle as summer on Tatooine. And when _that_ turns competitive, like most things do between them, well.

That’s a problem neither of them sees any reason to solve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Author’s ramblings_

Oops I wrote something super smutty

But that doesn’t matter because it was honestly just a tonne of fun to write. My hope is that it’s a tonne of fun to read as well.

It used to feel so natural to write just these two, but over the course of the years I’ve written _Star Wars_ stuff, I’ve moved pretty fully into a space where I mostly write in the _Empire Strikes Back_ timeline or after, and it’s almost always Luke/Leia/Han. Feels good to focus on these two for a hot minute. Very different dynamic than the OT3.

Leave me some love if you have some to spare. I do so enjoy the attention.


End file.
